Razor's Edge (Afflictions)

by Racquel Reck

  It rings.

  Dammit, Tryst! Pick up. I haven’t talked to him since before Gary propositioned me. I’ve tried to call him a few times, but he never answers. It always goes straight to voice mail. Just like it does now. He’s upset and gave up on me just like my parents did before I got pregnant with Ben. I never thought he’d do this to me. I always thought he’d be there. Like he promised. You’d think the guy would put his feelings on hold for this shit.

  Anger coils in the pit of my stomach. Morgan is the father of my little girl. I don’t care how much shit has gone down. I have a right to know if he died.

  Died?

  A sob erupts from my soul. Tears flood my eyes and pour sorrow down my cheeks. He can’t be dead. Not him. He might have done some shady shit, but he was hurt. I hurt him. If he’s dead—I missed my chance to make things right. I want to make things right.

  Cincy is five hours from here. Tryst probably won’t answer his phone. I know what I have to do.

  “It’s okay. I’m sure he’s fine.” Gretchen continues to rub my back. “Morgan’s a strong guy. He was probably so hyped up, this being one of his last concerts and all, that he might’ve skipped a meal.”

  Yeah. That might be it. He might have just fainted. I don’t need to drive—hell, yes I do. What if it wasn’t that? What if it’s more serious? What if he’s dead?

  I dart to the back and race up the stairs to my loft.

  Gretchen’s behind me. “What are you going to do?”

  I pause. Am I seriously going to do this? I have to. I have to know what’s wrong with him. I swing open my door. “Ben, pack some clothes. We’re driving to Cincinnati.”

  #####

  Bebe navigates the long stretch of highway. She insisted that she drive me. Said I was too upset to be driving. She’s right. My emotions are all over the place. One is clearer than all the rest—fear. I’m scared I’ll be too late. I’m afraid that the worst has happened and I lost the love of my life. I’ll never forgive myself for shutting him out if that happens.

  “So he’s in recovery.” Bebe’s voice sooths some of my fear. She has her cell pressed to her ear as she keeps her eyes on the road.

  Finally got hold of Tryst, apparently. Odd that he’d answer her phone calls and not mine.

  “We’re almost there.” Bebe clicks the blinker to exit the freeway. “Should be at the hospital in ten.”

  And that’s too fucking long. I play with the hem on my tank top. He’s in recovery. Calm down, girl.

  “Okay, okay. Point taken.” Bebe ends the call and tosses her cell in the center console.

  “And…”

  She glances at me out of the corner of her eye. Even from the side view I can tell she’s sad. “He’s in recovery.”

  “I know that.” I let out a frustrated breath. “I heard. What happened?”

  “Um…” She nods her head toward Ben. “He passed out.”

  Right! God, am I that upset that I didn’t consider my son’s feelings? I look back at him. He has his headphones in and he’s listening to music on his laptop. He wouldn’t have heard. But Bebe’s right. It’s best not to chance it.

  My phone buzzes. It’s my shop. We left Gretchen in charge. Shit, I wonder what happened now? I hit answer. “Yeah.”

  “I know you’re busy and all, but I thought I’d give you the heads-up. Gary came by here pissed as hell. Said you never showed up for your date.”

  Holy Shit! I forgot. I was supposed to go over there today. “Thanks, Gretchen. What did you tell him?”

  “That you were going to Cincy to see Morgan.”

  Fuck!

  “Was I not supposed to tell him that?”

  Gretchen has no clue. No one does—about the threat Gary hangs over my head. Of course she wouldn’t think to keep that quiet. I run a hand down my face. “No. It’s okay.”

  It’s really not.

  She sighs. “Good. I thought I messed up for a moment. He looked pretty angry.”

  “I’ll deal with him later. It’s over between us. Permanently.” And I mean it. Morgan will take me back. He’ll keep Ben and me safe. I will not keep throwing my life away, keep degrading myself for Gary. I lost the respect of everyone I love, including Ben. So for him, for me. I’m finally stepping up. I’ll figure out what to do about his threats when I know Morgan is safe.

  Five minutes later we walk into the waiting room of the recovery unit at University Hospital. Wiley’s sitting in a chair watching TV, and Tryst is staring out a window.

  “Uncle Tryst!” Ben runs over to him and Tryst turns.

  He scowls at me but smiles at Ben. “Hey, Duders.”

  “How’s Morg?” Ben asks.

  “He’s sleeping. But he’s good. He just passed out.”

  And I’m still wondering why he passed out.

  “They said we could go in and see him, but how about we get some food first.” Tryst arches a brow at Ben, but won’t look at me.

  “I’m starving.” Bebe moves past me and takes Ben’s hand. “Morg will probably want something when he wakes up.”

  “I’m not six.” Ben looks up at her. “Mom’s going in first. I get it.” He walks toward the hallway where there’s a sign pointing toward the cafeteria.

  Bebe shrugs and follows him.

  Tryst sneers at me.

  “What the fuck is your problem, Tryst?”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “My problem? My problem is you fucking that asshole on camera.”

  What? The whole waiting room is looking at us now. Even Wiley stands from his seat. “I never had sex with Gary on camera.”

  “Bullshit.” He steps closer to me. “We all saw the video.”

  Gary videotaped us? I take a seat as goose bumps form all over me. My stomach twists. That asshole! And they all saw it! Bile rises up the back of my throat and I gag to choke it back. I inhale and calm my stomach before I turn to Tryst. “I had no clue.”

  His scowl won’t let up. It’s like the expression is cemented to his face. “You know what?” He shakes his head. “I don’t give a shit anymore. Ruin your life. Your mom was right—you’re a lost cause. And right now I have too much shit on my plate to deal with. Our lead singer just ODed on heroin.”

  All the wind is knocked from my sternum. “What?”

  Wiley stands, and I’m shocked by the sympathy I see in his gray eyes. Where the hell did the real Wiley go? “We didn’t know he was doing it. This had to be his first time. We would’ve known if he’d done this before. We would have seen a pattern.”

  “Are you sure about that? I didn’t know Gary was using for the first six months the drug had a hold on him.”

  Gone is the sympathy. Wiley’s eyes flash with anger. “He wouldn’t do that. His dad died because he was an addict.”

  This is a newsflash to me. Morgan never told me about his dad. Hell, now that I remember our relationship, he never really told me anything about himself other than he raised Logan because the bottle and needles— Oh, shit! He did tell me. I just wrote it off. I’m such a bitch. “If that’s the case, then why did he do it?”

  Wiley shrugs.

  I need to see Morgan. I have to know that he’s okay. What the hell was he thinking? Do I really want to stick to the plan and go back to him now? Can I be with another heroin addict? My head’s light.

  Tryst grumbles something then stalks off in the direction Bebe and Ben went.

  “Here.” Wiley hands me a water bottle.

  “Why are you being nice to me?” If anything I thought he’d be the one to throw me out when we arrived.

  “You’re pregnant with my boy’s baby.” He shrugs and sits down next to me, crossing an ankle over his knee. “I don’t have to like you. But you shouldn’t be stressed out.”

  “I don’t get you.”

  “There’s nothing to get. Morgan was a complete mess on this tour because of you.”

  And here it comes. I knew this version of nice Wiley wouldn’t stick.

  He turns in the seat to f
ace me. “Not trying to upset you. I’ve never seen Morgan drink. He’s never been this jacked up over a chick before. I know how he feels. And it’s my responsibility as his friend to take care of his shit while he can’t. If something happened to you or that baby you’re carrying and I had the power to stop it and didn’t, he’d kill me.”

  Wiley is a strange guy. Somehow I’m comforted by his words. I’m upset that Morgan fell apart, that I caused it, but Wiley is putting aside his personal feelings toward me. He’s worried about his friend. He’s not an asshole. Sure, he has those qualities sometimes, but he’s a good friend.

  “Just don’t fuck with his emotions anymore. He can’t take it.” Wiley turns in his seat and looks back at the TV.

  “I’m not going to. I—” And I catch myself. I don’t want anyone to know I love him. I’m not even sure if love is enough. I’m here, but I didn’t know he was using heroin.

  He nods.

  That’s all I get. It’s all that can be expected. I’m the one who messed everything up. I almost lost Morgan for good. I stuck by a heroin addict and lost, but he was evil to the core. Morgan’s not. He’s got a good soul. The question I still can’t answer is, can I stick by another man fighting an addiction? Can I put myself, my son, or this baby through all the emotional BS that goes with it? I just don’t know if I can.

  Thirty-two

  Morgan

  My feet are cold. The bathroom walls are quiet. The whole house is so quiet. I stare down at the sight in front of me. He’s naked, laying back with his head against the wall and his butt planted firmly on the toilet. There is a loose band around his arm and a needle and spoon on the floor. Gone is his tan complexion. His lips are blue. Sunken-in cheeks and closed, hollowed eyes, he looks nothing like the man I remember, the man who used to play with me and bring me home gummy worms when he got off of work.

  I take three steps in. “Dad?”

  No response, and in that moment, I know he’s dead.

  Logan’s screams pierce the silence. I turn to see my five-year-old brother, green eyes wide and mouth hanging open. His screaming doesn’t want to stop.

  I block the view and grab his arm. “Go get Mom.”

  He blinks at me a few times then darts toward the living room.

  I turn around. I know Dad’s gone, but something inside me has to make sure. Heart racing and hands shaking I draw closer to him. My breath hitches as I take that last step and reach out to touch him.

  His eyes fly open. “Morgan!”

  I jump. This was never part of the nightmare before. I look down at my ten-year-old self, but he’s gone. Instead, my arms have hair, my legs are longer, and my chest…bigger? I look back at my Dad.

  He’s sitting on a tree stump smoking a Lucky Strike. He’s no longer naked and he doesn’t look as sickly as he did the night I found him. He looks young and healthy. His green eyes bore into mine. “Not good, son.” He shakes his head. “I give you an opportunity and you blow it to hell.”

  I open my mouth to say something, anything. I’ve waited for over two decades to say my piece. But none of the words I thought to say to him before come to mind. Instead I look around.

  We aren’t in the bathroom anymore. We’re in the back field of our old house, the one we lived in before Logan was born. When times were simpler and happy. Before his drugs and Mom’s bottle took over.

  He takes a long drag on his smoke. “The woman and her kid.”

  “Shay?”

  He nods. “You really done fucked up. Didn’t cha?”

  This is what my brain conjures? I was on stage and—

  “Don’t start thinking about how you got here. You don’t want to go back yet. Not until you listen to what I have to say.”

  “Am I dead?’

  He laughs. “Dead? No. Not yet. If you play your cards right, not for a while.”

  “Then where—”

  “Limbo. Up, the shiny gates of Heaven. Down, the dark pit of despair. You get the gist.” He butts his cigarette, pulls out another and lights it.

  Guess you don’t have to worry about emphysema when you’re dead. This is some fucking trip. I’m never touching a speedball ever again.

  “Wise choice.” He exhales. “Wouldn’t want to end up like dear old Dad.”

  “Did you just—”

  “I know what you’re thinking. And good. I hope you’re better at sticking to that decision than I was.” He motions to another stump that has magically sprouted out of thin air. “Take a seat.”

  “Is this like some divine intervention or something?”

  “That’s a funny thing to call it. But most just say it’s a near-death experience.”

  “So I get to go back?”

  My Dad’s eyebrows pinch. “This is serious. You are at a crossroads in your life. But you’ve jumped your track. So fate had to step in and put you back on course.”

  “I don’t believe in that shit.”

  He puts out his cigarette and lights another. “Then what do you call this?”

  “A really bad trip.”

  He nods. “You’re not supposed to end up downstairs. Do enough of that drug you love so much and that’s where you’ll be. It’ll consume you. Your fate isn’t written in stone. It’s your free will that decides what happens when you get here. I was sent to tell you that you need to make a change. Get yourself back on course.”

  I sigh. “I don’t know how.”

  “Yes. You do.” He stands and stretches. “I’ve met a lot of interesting people while I’ve been in limbo—one a few years back, pretty little thing, her boyfriend messed her up pretty bad. She was off course too, just like you. I was assigned to send her back. Do you know what I saw when I touched her hand to guide her?”

  Now would be an excellent time to wake up. Wake up! Wake up, Morgan! I don’t want to hear anything anymore. I don’t want to be here. What did he say to do? Remember how I —

  “I saw you, Morgan. When I touched her hand I saw you. Smoking pot in your garage with your friends—well, not all of them were your friends. But I heard you say something about never being as stupid as Bryan. About never falling for a woman. In your head you thought that you would never be as stupid as me because your mother ruined me. That’s not true. We destroyed each other because we were poison together. Had we met other people maybe we wouldn’t have turned out that way. But Shay, she lifts you up. Doesn’t put you down. I sent her to you. Don’t shit on my gift.”

  He grabs my hands and stares deep into my eyes. “I love you, Son.”

  “I love—”

  “You.” My breath heaves and I shoot straight up. The smell of antiseptic and chemicals hit my nose. Cold commercial walls surround me. I’m in the hospital?

  “You’re awake!” Ben flies into my lap and wraps me in a tight hug.

  Where the hell did he come from? I hug him back, but my mind is still spinning from my dream. Or near-death experience. I have no idea what the hell it was. Definitely not using any more drugs anytime in the future.

  “Ben. Leave Morgan alone.” Shay comes out of the bathroom like some kind of freaking angel. The light glows around her rounded figure. She’s my Angel. I don’t know why she’s here, but that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters right now. Not the past. Not what we both did to each other. The only thing that matters is that she’s here.

  Ben unlatches from me, but I can’t take my eyes off her. I’m seeing her now in a new light. Not the shrine to motherhood I put her on—that had expectations. I don’t expect anything from her anymore, because nothing turns out how you want it to be. She’s not perfect and neither am I. And if we don’t demand things then that leaves room for good things to come.

  Her brows pinch. “Why are you staring at me? Do I have something on my face?” She wipes the side of her perfect mouth. “I was eating Cheez-Its.”

  Cheez-Its. I laugh and it feels great! “My perfect angel who eats Cheez-Its.”

  Her eyebrows fly up. “You’re not messed up are you?” She poi
nts to her head. “Up here?”

  Ben laughs and bounces on the bed. “Morgan’s hilarious when he’s groggy.”

  Shit! Did I say that out loud? “Um, no. As far as I can tell, I’m mentally stable.” Just had a really fucked up dream. One where my dad came to me and said, “Hey, son. You looked a little lonely so I sent this chick to you.” I shake my head. “How long was I out?”

  “You had a really bad case of the flu.” Ben touches my forehead. “You’re not burning up anymore.”

  “Ben, why don’t you go tell Tryst and the others that Morgan is awake—and coherent, this time.” Shay rounds the left side of the bed and sits down in the recliner.

  “Sure thing.” He springs off the bed. “Bryan owes me ten bucks. Time to collect.”

  Before I can ask him why Bryan owes him ten, he’s out the door.

  “Bryan bet Ben ten bucks on a video game and Ben whooped his ass.”

  I laugh. I feel great. “How long was I out?”

  Shay stands, then rethinks it and sits back down. Tears brim in her eyes. I’ve only seen this women cry twice since I’ve known her, so it must have been bad.

  “You died on stage, but the EMTs had a defibrillator and brought you back. You were only dead for about forty seconds. Or so they tell me. But you were in and out of consciousness for three days while you detoxed.” She clears her throat and wipes her eyes. “God, you were in so much pain.”

  “I don’t remember.” All I remember is Dad.

  She nods. “They said you might not. I didn’t believe them, because your eyes were open and you talked to me.”

  My heart thumps in my chest.

  Shay pulls some Kleenex from a tissue box and wipes her nose.

  I hurt her so bad, and all I want to do is comfort her. I hold my hand out to her. “Come here.”

  She looks at my hand like it’s diseased.

  Right. She’s still mad at me. This is going to take some time. “I’m sorry, Shay.” I let my hand fall to the bed. “I shouldn’t have put you through that.”

  She shakes her head and stands. “What were you thinking? Heroin, Morgan? Seriously?” Her eyes bore into mine, the heat behind them burning me like I deserve to be burned. But this isn’t the end of us. I won’t let it be.